


Not All Who Wander

by misura



Category: The House with a Clock in its Walls (2018)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25238839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Isaac in the Black Forest. (canon divergent AU)
Relationships: Jonathan Barnavelt/Isaac Izard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	Not All Who Wander

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityabrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityabrin/gifts).



The forest is dark all around him, and Isaac Izard knows that he is very close to being lost.

 _Not quite there yet,_ he tells himself, because the magic is still there, inside of him, useless to save even a single one of them, but as long as it's there, he knows he has to keep trying.

_For Jonathan._

*

"You're uh, you're really going, huh?" Jonathan asks. He looks all the kinds of nervous and uncertain Isaac hasn't allowed himself to feel.

Isaac's bag is all packed, ready to go. He wonders, suddenly, if this is what Jonathan felt like when he left home.

Not the happiest thought, given that Jonathan's never been back. Isaac squashes the thought.

"Yes," he says. "I'm afraid - I'm afraid that I am." _I am afraid._

Jonathan has always understood him better than anyone. Not that there have been many others. Once he'd met Jonathan, Isaac never felt the need.

"Well, hey." Jonathan smiles, opening his arms for a hug. Isaac steps into it. "You're amazing, you know that. And I'm going to miss you a ton. Two tons. An infinite number of tons!"

Isaac smiles. "I'm going to miss you, too, Jonathan."

"Great. Now we're both crying," Jonathan says. "Good thing I brought tissues."

"A good thing, indeed." Isaac reached into his own pockets, before he remembers he's wearing his uniform. It doesn't have any extra pockets yet, to pull a near-endless rainbow of tissues out of.

"Just - just go. I'll be fine," Jonathan says, blowing his nose loudly.

"I will return. I promise," Isaac says.

*

"I promise," Isaac repeats. His voice sounds small, insignificant in the vastness of the forest.

He feels almost as if it's mocking him, and why wouldn't it? Isaac Izard, great magician, and look at him now. He thought that he was doing the right thing, that he'd be making a difference. That what he had chosen to do would _matter_.

He met the people he would be taking care of, and he told himself that he would watch over them, that he'd take them back to meet Jonathan, after the war. Send them tickets to their new show - and there would be a new show, of course, a grand reunion tour.

*

"Did you hear them out there?" Jonathan is beaming and bouncing on his feet, like a kid at Christmas. His top hat looks like it's going to fall off any moment now.

"I heard them," Isaac says, patting his pocket to make sure he's gotten all of the doves and rabbits out of there, and discovering an expensive-looking watch someone is probably going to want back in one piece. 

"I said, did you hear them?" Jonathan grins from ear to ear, and Isaac grins back. Jonathan's enthusiasm is contagious but it's also a fantastic feeling to know he's helped putting that expression on Jonathan's face. "We're magic, baby! We made it to the big leagues! After this, we're famous!"

 _I don't care about fame so long as I have you,_ Isaac thinks. He's not even sure when or how that happened. There's just something about Jonathan that drew him: another kid, all alone in the world, who likes magic, and now here they are.

"You have a real talent for being on the stage," he says.

Jonathan blushes with pleasure. "I wouldn't be anywhere without you. Your magic - I can't even imagine being able to do half the stuff you can do just like that." Jonathan snaps his fingers. "Like it's nothing. You're great, man!"

" _We're_ great," Isaac says. "A good team."

"Good? Try: the best," Jonathan says. "So is this a good time to ask if I can kiss you? Or is that a weird question to ask right now? Because I don't want to make things weird, but I - "

Isaac kisses him, and it's magic and sweet and all that is good and bright in the world.

*

It's a nice memory, a good memory, and Isaac lets it warm him, but then it fades and he's alone again, a powerless man in a dark forest who is cold and hungry and desperate.

He knows spells to make it rain and spells to make it snow and spells to chase away the clouds to create the perfect weather for a picnic - or an open-air show.

He can pull a rabbit from a top hat, and a top hat out of a rabbit. He can melt a watch and put it back together after smashing it with a hammer. He can perform a large number of card tricks, though not as many as Jonathan, who insisted on teaching him how to play poker.

He does not, Isaac realizes, know a single spell to take him home, to guide him out of this forest. To survive, after all the others have died.

Maybe, he reflects, he doesn't deserve to. He let everyone else down, after all.

*

"If ever you decide you're tired of being a warlock, you might well pursue a career in music."

Jonathan looks up from where he's sitting on the edge of the pool. "Oh hey. Didn't see you there, partner." 

The baby shrub griffin Isaac has coaxed into being comes to press its head against his legs. Isaac ruffles its leaves, noting that it will soon need another trimming. "It's late."

"Three hours past midnight." Jonathan plays a few notes on his saxophone - a fragment from a song Isaac knows he should recognize, except that he has no ear for music. "Magic hour, baby."

"Also known as 'best have a care or the neighbors might start complaining' hour," Isaac says.

"I did try a sound suppression spell, but it was slamming my jam, if you know what I mean," Jonathan says. "So then I tried another one, only that one kind of maybe backfired a little."

"Yes. I heard."

Jonathan winces, before his expression brightens again. "Well, hey, your neighbors are totally nice. And this is some high-quality jazz."

"Our neighbors," Isaac says. The house is still getting used to Jonathan, but Isaac knows it will come to hold Jonathan as dear as he does.

"Our neighbors," Jonathan agrees, blowing another series of notes. The baby shrub griffin purrs.

Isaac sighs. "I suppose there would be no point in asking you to come back to bed."

"Well, now," Jonathan says. The saxophone plays a sultry melody. On a technical level, it's perfect - much more perfect than anything Jonathan's ever produced with the instrument. "Not sure if I would say _that_. I mean, don't go selling yourself short here, man. You've got some game."

Jonathan waggles his eyebrows and grins.

Isaac sighs and shakes his head, gesturing to cast a spell that will let the neighbors sleep in peace, and then another one, to bring down an image of the moon and all the stars, dancing.

"Could have been a contender, you know," Jonathan says, picking up the saxophone again. "Could have been one of the great."

The stars merge together and part, to write JONATHAN BARNAVELT, YOU ARE THE GREATEST in the sky, and Jonathan keeps playing and Isaac sits down to listen, and watch, and feel the magic of the moment - Jonathan's magic, revealed in the music, not doing anything other than being there, shining.

*

The forest is dark all around him, and Isaac Izard knows that he is very close to being lost.

 _Not quite there yet,_ he tells himself, and then he hears the sound of someone playing the saxophone very poorly, and it's the most beautiful, magical sound in the entire world.

And then there is a light, and a voice saying, "Isaac? Is that you?" and he knows that he has been found.


End file.
